by John Bowling
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE LAST OF THE VIKINGS.
"An old man broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity!"
Shakespeare.
One chill December morning, as certain lay brothers of the monastery ofCrowland were engaged gathering faggots in the woods to feed the firesof the Abbey, they came across a strange-looking figure, sitting on afallen tree and leaning heavily against another. His cheeks wereblanched like the snow, and his long red hair and beard was fallingunkempt and matted over his shoulders and chest. He seemed sadly wornand helpless, with strength utterly exhausted; but beneath his shaggyeyebrows his eyes glowed with a strange, unnatural light. Beside him sata half-starved hound whining piteously, and licking the cold andemaciated fingers of his master. The churls gazed upon the stranger inabject terror, thinking him to be some satyr or spirit of the wood, whowould surely work them ill; but as the figure beckoned them feebly toapproach nearer, with much trembling and irresolution they drew nearenough to hear his voice.
"Can you tell me if I am near the monastery of Crowland?" said hefeebly.
"You are not many bowshots from thence," they replied.
"Can you tell me whether Ethel the Saxon, daughter of Beowulf, dwellsthere?"
"Torfrida, wife of Hereward, and Godiva, wife of Leofric, are here; andthere is a younger one called Ethel, with the flaxen hair. She is a holywoman, much given to penances and fasting, and she is very good to thepoor; is it her you seek?"
"I have come a long way to seek this Ethel, and I am sorely wounded andvery faint. Could ye, for love or charity, carry me in your bullockcart, for I have no further strength, and must perish shortly if yeleave me here."
So, assured by the evident helplessness of this strange being, thechurls came a little nearer, and asked him some further questionsconcerning his strange quest. Eventually, they unloaded their rude cartof its burden of wood; then they hastily pulled some tall grass, andscraped together some dead leaves. Of these they made a rough sort ofbed to ease the jolting of the rude cart over the rough ground. Withmuch difficulty they lifted the stranger in, for he was of burly build,though sorely wasted. Then, slowly and tediously, through the windingsof the forest, they returned to the Abbey. Nourishments and cordialswere administered to him, his untended wounds were washed and dressed,and he was put to bed.
"Ye are very kind to me, but have ye not a maiden called Ethel here? Letme but speak with Ethel, daughter of the Saxon thane, Beowulf," pleadedthe stranger.
"Be patient, stranger," said Torfrida, who bent tenderly over him,moistening his parched lips. "Ethel is on an errand of mercy to the sickpoor."
"Ah! ye know not how I love this Ethel--things might have been differentif Ethel had not left me."
As soon as Ethel returned from her mission, she was informed that awounded stranger had come from far in quest of her. Immediately shehastened to the bedside of the sick one, wondering, and tremulous withagitation, and with many strange misgivings of heart.
It was as she feared--there lay Sigurd in pain and great weakness, hisbroad frame shattered and wasted almost to skin and bone. It waspalpable also, that the fierce, restless spirit was hopelessly andrapidly consuming the small remnant of vitality still spared to him. Hiseyes were deeply sunken, and shining with unnatural light, telling buttoo plainly that another grim and unwelcome visitor was lurking near,and that no human skill could long keep _him_ at bay.
Ethel sat down beside him in her convent habit. What a transformationwas here! Sigurd uttered a deep groan when he set eyes on her. The longflaxen locks, once the crown and glory of her youth, were cut short, andthe remnant hidden by her hood. The blue eyes, so tender and expressive,and the fine, regular features were still there. The soft, fair skin wasa shade paler, and the short time which had elapsed had palpably agedher, or else it was the cloister habit which made her seem so mucholder. One thin hand was immediately grasped by the worn and attenuatedfingers of Sigurd, as he looked up most reverently into her face. Thisfair Saxon had long been to him _St. Ethel_, and her form was enshrinedin his heart. He proceeded to question her in serious tones.
"I am well nigh hunted to death, as you see, Ethel--dead beat--dead beatat last. What think ye, Ethel; shall I get well?"
Ethel shook her head.
"I am afraid not in this world, my lord."
He responded with a low groan.
"But I can't be spared now, Ethel; the old cause is desperate now, andsorely in need of me. What will become of my oppressed countrymen, withnever a leader to look to?"
"God alone knows, my lord, but all things are in His hand; and I trustthat through this fiery ordeal, and through the long struggle, He willbring profit to the nation. Already signs are manifest that the hatredof William is abating, and Saxons here and there are being received intofavour."
"Ah! Saxons being received into favour by the tyrant usurper! Then, Iwot the renegade Oswald, and sycophants and timeservers generally, willthrive. My curses on the cowardly brood!"
"Call them not renegade, my lord, neither curse them. Oswald will bestserve his countrymen by frankly accepting what was inevitable in anycase."
"Nothing was inevitable, if he had but had the mind to stand by hiscountry. We would have followed him anywhere, for there was none of uswith a head to command like he had; and he wielded a powerful sword. Noother man ever got the better of me in single combat, and I could haveworshipped him had he stood by us. 'Twas the Norman woman bewitched him,and I hate him for saving his coward's skin and betraying his country,because a dark-eyed siren and temptress beckoned him."
"My lord, no more of this! He was the wisest amongst us, and sawfarthest; and if you and others had been guided by him, there would havebeen less of Saxon blood shed. I think I see clearly in this revolutionthe hand of a wiser and a mightier than he--One who has seen fit to castyour Viking hardihood and valour, and stern, severe virtues, and theSaxons' milder traits, along with Norman chivalry and refinement, intothe eternal crucible. You and I and ours, it is true, may lose ouridentity; but all that is best will reappear in the ages to come."
"Ye speak in riddles, Ethel. Do ye think the Viking race will lose itsidentity? Never!" said he, with fierce emphasis. "Vikings, who havesailed every sea and conquered everywhere, to be swallowed up by thiswomanish people--never! This will not do! Get me my sword, Ethel; if Ibut feel it I shall be strong again."
"The sword is resting in its scabbard, my lord. It has long since drunkin its fill of blood--let it rest for ever."
"Why have ye taken my sword from me, Ethel? I can wield it yet. I tellthee, Ethel"--making a vain effort to raise himself--"there's marrow inthe Viking race yet, and we shall sweep the seas again as of old! I willnot lie here. Let me to the Bruneswald; I have men left yet, and we'llmake a fight for it to the end!"
"My lord, you will never handle sword again. The Viking's cause--the_reign of force_--has received its mortal wound. 'Twill linger probablythrough centuries of darkness, and amid the twilight of the days stilllater; for men, benighted men, here and there, will give it a spasmodicand fitful revival; but never more in the ages of the world will thegaunt and hateful reign of force be paramount."
"Ethel! Ethel! Ye embitter my death. What will ye have, girl? Are ourgods dead, think ye? Where are our Sagas? Bethink ye, there is theViking race beyond the North Sea, and they'll come again; and do yethink these sleek and well-fed Normans will drive them out? The hardywarriors from the mountains and fiords over the fierce sea are coming.Hist!" he shouted, half delirious, "do ye hear their shouts? Will yereach me my sword, Ethel? I must be up and meet them!" Then he sank backexhausted once more. "Tut, tut, we deserve this for our folly. What am Idoing; going to die in a bed? The sea is the Viking's home. Why did weever take to land, except for plunder? Accursed ease and effeminacy haveundone us. But we'll to the sea again. Wait awhile, Ethel; ye shall seewho will be masters."
"Calm yourself, my lord, and think of oth
er things, for time is short.The Viking's gods _are_ dead if ye ask me, or what is more true, theynever had an existence, and were only the creation of a wild andbarbarous fancy."
Sigurd looked at her steadily.
"Oh, ye are a Christian now, Ethel! Ye should not have left the oldfaith; ye take the heart out of me; ye should have stood by the oldfaith, then we should have met again in Valhalla, you and I. Ye know nothow ye make the Viking's death hard to bear: ye take my staff from me asI ford the stream."
"We shall never meet in Valhalla, my lord! but we may meet again in thekingdom of our God."
"Not me, Ethel! ye do not mean that I may go to the Christian'sheaven--bethink you what I am."
"Yes, you may go, my lord. I am not without hopes that even you may befound there. Certain you shall, if you are willing."
"Will you be there, Ethel?"
"Through the mercy of God I hope to be there."
"But ye say He is a Prince of Peace?"
"Yes, He is the Prince of Peace."
"Ye know I am a Viking; what could I do in the Christian's heaven?Should I have my trusty sword?"
"No, my lord, you would need no sword there, for hatred, oppression, andwrong, are unknown in heaven."
"Will ye be my bride then, Ethel?"
"They neither marry, nor are given in marriage, my lord."
"Should I be near _you_, Ethel, always?"
"I should like to be near you, if I may, my lord."
"Ah, then I would like to go to the Christian's heaven if I might benear _you_. There will be no Normans there, will there, Ethel?"
"Yes, my lord, I hope there will be Normans there also."
"Norman's there! Ah! that would spoil it, Ethel. What would a Skald likeme do with my heart on fire with hatred of these Normans? It will notdo, Ethel! It will not do! The Christian's heaven will not do for theViking!"
"But our God will give you a new heart. He takes our heart of stone andgives us a heart of flesh, so that we _love_ our enemies."
Sigurd responded with a deep groan. "But Ethel, girl, what madness isthis? I should not be a Viking! what should I be, then? Should I wearsilks, and strut about in feathers and fringeing and be a flabbycourtezan? If so, I think I would prefer the Viking's Valhalla, afterall; it suits the Viking best. Why won't ye go with _me_, Ethel, girl?Let the Norman and the slaves of Saxons have their heaven. Perhaps yethink I should drag ye over the wild hills, or through the greenwood;but I would be gentle to ye. Ye little know how I love ye, Ethel."
"My lord, your mind is very dark; I will send a priest who will instructyou in these things."
"I want never a priest, Ethel; ye can tell me best. Do ye know, Ethel,the old priest Olaf is dead? What evils have befallen our race! I fearye prophesy rightly; the end is indeed come."
"I have no news, my lord; but I expected this."
"Yes, he is dead; he would drag his crazy limbs after us in our laststruggle with the Normans; he said the gods would protect him, for hehad a charmed life, and that they would fight for us and give us thevictory; but we were outnumbered, my followers were all slain to a man;but the Normans were also, for I cut down the last of them. Olaf, ourold priest, was also hacked to death by the enemy."
"He was the last priest of the old heathen line, and he will have nosuccessor. The old heathenism is gone for ever, my lord."
Sigurd groaned deeply, and called in frantic tones upon the spirits ofValhalla. "Odin! Norseman's god! Can't ye help us in this pinch? can'tye help us, I say?" Then with a deep groan he sank back in completeexhaustion.
"Calm yourself, my lord, or I must leave you," said Ethel. "But Sigurdheard her not, his eyes were closed and he was evidently spent. With afeverish start, however, he opened his eyes again, and sought eagerlyfor the loved form of Ethel.
"Ah, I thought ye had left me. The end has come, Ethel; I shall not getwell again, but I have one request; let me be buried near the _sea_, forI know the Vikings will come again, and I'll hear their shouts ofvictory and the shock of their onslaught; and, Ethel, let me be _moundlaid_, mound laid, mark me, Ethel! then they'll know 'tis a Vikingchief's grave, and the Skalds will sing of my exploits. Ethel, have mysword also laid under my head, ready, my trusty sword 'Tyrfing,'(foe-hater), we must not be parted. It's very dark, Ethel." Slowly hiseyes closed, and for a little while he lay quiet; then he started up andshouted. "Down with the Normans! Ho, men! carry me out of the cave; Icannot breathe here." After this fashion for a little while the fitfulstruggle continued, and then in quietness the contest ended; and thelast of the Vikings closed his eyes with the loved form of Ethel bendingover him.